


// Haunt.

by Black



Category: inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Delcest, Disturbing Content, Dubious Consent, Gore, M/M, Mental Illness, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, bout time i added those two tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// ...his own reflection horrified him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. teeter

"Nobody would care."

Delsin whips around to find himself teetering on the edge of the building, those eyes burning a hole into the concrete beneath them. "Ah, it'd be over pretty quick," he continues, pointing to the ground, "just, concrete yourself up a spire and well..." He makes a falling motion with one hand onto his finger, and Delsin cringes at the idea of being speared. Those dark eyes hover in his for a moment, and the red that bites at his doubles cheeks has done nothing but grow worse. The black under his eyes is awful, and it spirals into deep veins that spin in his skin. 

Silence swallows them for a moment. 

"Fetch would care, and Eugene," he carefully counters, edging up and peering over onto the ground --  
wait, why was he even arguing with a ghost?  
why was he even considering this?

He bares his teeth at himself, "fuck off."  
But there's no real weight to his words, only a peek, a crack of desperation that he tries to bite back. he fails. horribly. fucking horribly.  
Though turning to face his double,

he finds only Seattle, staring back.


	2. keep me close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // he had to be dreaming.

Seattle is red.  
The roofing creaks under his feet; the space needle is the only thing that doesn't look twisted, warped.  
He clings to it's safety, bones heavy and pulsing in an alarm like fashion; he can hear the blood thrum in his ears and he curls his nails against the skin of his arms to try and decipher if this is a dream or if it's real life because he can't quite tell anymore and his heart flutters awkwardly in his rib cage and it's hard to breathe and --

"Hey," 

His eyes flicker over and there's him, spindly him with the winding veins in his cheeks and those dark eyes. That wicked smile twisted in smoke, nose red and flaring with disease and he instinctively takes a step back when his double inches forward. This has to be a dream, has to be. He claws at his arms, and he can feel the burn bloom under his nails. "Where are you going?" he asks softly, and Delsin's tongue is thick enough with fear that he can't speak. 

He closes his eyes.  
He wills this to go away.  
He wills himself to wake up.

Delsin opens his eyes,  
and the noise that leaves him is pitiful. 

Fingers brush his cheeks, and he can feel the fire simmering right beneath the tips of them. "Do me a favor?" he asks, and Delsin attempts to shy away but there's no shying away and his feet are rooted to the ground and all of a sudden there's a gentle, very, very gentle, press of lips to his forehead. He can smell the rot. It festers in the pit of his belly and a white hot sickness roots itself there. His ghost smiles, and he can feel the vague press of teeth into his skin.

"Remember me."


	3. convincing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // sleep is a catch-all cure.

His cup clatters to the floor and shatters.   
"Delsin?"

Fetch throws him a glance of concern, and there's a distant look in his eyes. He's staring out the window and he's fixated on something and he rubs at his forehead and slowly  
slowly   
his eyes flicker over to her. 

"Oh, shit," he seems to snap from his stupor, bending down to pick up the pieces, looking frustrated with himself. "I zoned out," he offers, and Fetch approaches him, leaning over to help him clean up, "I'm sorry."

She hesitates, "D, you feelin' okay?"

Delsin offers her a smile,  
the smile bothers her. 

"I just, need to get some sleep."   
He rubs at his eyes, grabbing a towel to mop up the cooling coffee, "I'm okay."

He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more so than her,  
but she smiles back,  
and lets it go for now


	4. distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // ........lurk.

"I'm not going to hurt you,"  
He says softly, and Delsin tenses up as those hands are so gentle on his cheeks, "I want what's best for you."

A pause,

"Us."

There's an abrupt screech in the distance, and his double turns completely around, Delsin stumbling forward at the lack of contact that he had nodded into without recognition. Something black. Something shadowy. Twisted. The form is hard to make out. It looks humanoid, edging on the very horizon of his mind. It flickers, dips, churns; mouth ripping open, teeth needling against the sky.

It arches, looking up as if to swallow the sun. 

"What's that?" 

He asks, voice gruff and low in the silence that has swallowed his usually chatty double. Delsin turns to look, chest aching as he finds doubt, worry, something not so confident buried in the tired lines that echo beyond his mirror's eyes. "Nothing important," he says after a moment, seeming to choose his words wisely, "Don't worry about it." 

The rest of their time is spent with few words exchanged.   
His double stalks the edge of the Space Needle's roof, while Delsin tries to warm the cold fear nestled in the tips of his fingers...


	5. not all who wander are lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // beginnings.

When he opens his eyes,  
he's not in Seattle as he expected.

Corn maze?  
He rubs his fingers against his palms nervously. 

Once when he was five, he got lost in one of these and cried fifteen minutes straight for his brother. He sat down in the corner of a left turn and just, wailed. Loudly. Reggie had been pulled beyond him with his friends, and he didn't find little Delsin for what felt like hours. Oh. Reggie. Delsin frowns, and bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to hold back the sadness threatening to capsize him. 

The ground crunches dry under his weight as he creeps forward, peeking around a turn before taking the path, straight for a good bit before what looks like a left at the end. It's quiet. so quiet. he swallows. There's rustling in the distance. far off. he doesn't pay it much mind. maybe if he pretends it isn't there, what's rustling will never come. This is his dream after all, right? 

...right?

"Wrong," and there's hands fitted in his hoodie, pulling him into the stalks and off the open path. He opens his mouth to bite out a reply and jumps when there's a hand slapped over, the chapped skin warm, smokey. The smell of rot and home creeps through his noise; like too-wet wood that's been twice burned. Lips against his ear demand him to hush, and as something lumbers down the path he had just been traversing, he's inclined to listen. It stalks. Black threading through the lifeless husks and past them. past them. it pauses mid-step. moans. and continues down the path. 

Delsin presses back into the warmth at the sight of it, sagging in relief at the strong arms that hold him firm. "When we move, I want you to keep up," a nod, "I'm going to get you out of here. But you need to trust me."

hesitation, "do you trust me?"

His double laces their fingers, and Delsin nods. He wheezes as the hand is pulled from his mouth, and gives no hesitation as he's tugged through the husks. It's all dry and dead and crackles as they move but nothing comes, nothing. They must be making tons of noise but -- 

His double holds a hand out, motioning for him to stop. Delsin does, stomach churning nervously as his double gently steps out into an opening, fingers curling into his palms. "Come on," he mutters, all but diving into the next patch of corn. Delsin follows. And it continues like this. Drags on. 

Until they come to a clearing, and his double steps out with little hesitation at the sound of a soft hum growing louder. He pulls Delsin out at well, tightening the hold on his hand. It grounds him, keeps him level. This place is so foreign, so obscure. The clearing is large, the stalks broken and jagged. As if something had dragged itself through here, something big. something...

"It's time to go," he says, softly, pulling Delsin forward and across the large space. He follows, slow, and he feels achingly vulnerable. There's a snarl in the crisp silence, and when he looks behind him, – It's there. Teetering at the edge of the space, it's limbs twisted and broken, black sloughing from it's body with every jerky motion. It opens it's mouth, teeth thick with spit, rot. His double seems unmoved, pulling Delsin with the same calm demeanor he's kept throughout the situation. His eyes flicker back, a frown creasing his lips. 

A smile, his double is pushing him to the entrance now; “Don't look back.”

Delsin doesn't. 

He opens his eyes, a sob ripping from his lips as he fists the sheets and jerks himself fully awake. He drinks three cups of coffee in an hour and hesitates before calling Fetch, smiling as her voice floods him. The ache in his chest is something dull when she walks into his apartment and buries against him, his arms folding around her waist.

 _HUNGER_  
The voice is guttural, heavy in his chest.

Her eyes chase it quickly, and he spends the rest of the day binge watching comedies, and laughing.  
Airy, light, complete.


	6. devour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // eat.
> 
> *gore  
> *body-horror

It's the crackle of the fire that wakes him.   
He's blinded for a moment, hands meeting his eyes to rub the sensitivity away. 

"Kele." 

The heat beats against his skin. The sweat beads in the crooks of his joints and he reluctantly pulls his hands away. His eyes are disorienting. Delsin can't help but to stare. It's him. But not him. His skin is bruised, the blood pooling beneath layered twice, maybe three times over. They make him look so pale, the fire darkening them with the way it moves. The fingers beckoning him are cracked and sticky with dried pus, blood, something, something. He doesn't want to know what. 

The flame flares for a moment, rising between them and swallowing them both for a moment. It dies down, and nothing has changed. "Dance with me," is the command, and the hand already beckoning him extends over the fire. over the heat. it warps and prickles for a moment and Delsin doesn't even realize he's staring until he lifts his eyes and focuses on him, the other him, and the ice pools heavy in his belly at those 

eyes, red, bubbling, the black streaking from them, goop against the black feathers that have anchored in his pores. they stick to the bruises and they're tacky with spit and god only knows what and Delsin takes a step away from the offered hand, now thick with feathers that have begun to burn. He doesn't have to say no; the word is etched in the horror so heavy in his face. 

There's rustling in the darkness past them. It churns and writhes, the drone of beating wings ringing in his ears. 

"Dance with me."   
He screams at the fingers around his neck, his double stepping into the flames with no fear in his face. They bend to him, wrap around his legs and there's teeth at his neck where his heart hammers in his chest. There's a soft ticking, a tap, tap, tap and a wet noise as the teeth are in his skin and pulling and there's strings and things and his fingers shake and he's too scared to say anything and the fire is creeping up his legs his feet and it's a slow burn, embers flickering flickering screaming in his skin the bottom of his feet and 

he closes his eyes. tries to ignore the nails against his belly, tries to deny the fingers in his gut feeling pulling searching and when they pull away, Delsin chokes

and opens his eyes, the soft

tick tick tick

still echoing in his head. He looks to the window, the raven nesting there taps her beak against the glass. Relief floods him. Cold. Short lived. Momentary. The choked noise that leaves him at the sight of his clawed up stomach is enough to bring the fire back to his veins, and the blood under his nails is the only tell-tale memory of their birth.  _  
_


	7. trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // ...suffer.

He finds himself cornered.   
It looms.   
Thick.  
Black.  
It's mouth opens and there's teeth and they're human and those hands they're tipped at the fingers like claws like claws and Delsin shrinks into his hoodie and his back hits the wall. It's wooden. It's flimsy. It bends under his weight and he can't breath e he  c ant bre athe

it's weight makes the floor boar ds c reak and he's scratching a t the wa ll and hsi fingers peel at the seams and he's

sobbing into the wood

help

help

pl ea se

There's a hand at his shoulder and chapped lips at his ear and a whisper of 

_what's wrong_

and he's crumpling to the floor. He's going to die he's never going to leave this place he's here forever and Reggie and Betty and nobody can save him but there's a red glow, a halo in his peripheral vision and he looks over his shoulder. The neon is soft.  it hums low. complete. like static. the waves eating at the shore. The darkness snarls, it's bubbling figure stumbling back as it snaps at his double and then there's silence. 

Before a single footstep.   
And a snap, a whine, a loud pop as if the room can't handle them both. It seeps through the cracks. under the door. the windows. it wheezes as it retreats at the rumble in his double's throat. 

 _i told you not to wander_

he's on his feet and clutching at his double's chest and he smells clean. like antiseptic. like hospitals. it makes him sick. it makes him feel safe. he's warm though and the hum and the glow reminds him of home he's home and he's tired and when

he opens his eyes he's sleep deprived but drugged heavy with exhaustion. his phone pings with a text message but he can't be bothered to check because there's something red at the foot of his bed. watching. waiting. he has to still be dreaming. he falls back asleep at the rise and full and lull of his double's chest.


	8. adoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // they're scared of you.

He's sitting at the table eating breakfast.   
The coffee is warm, not scalding, but warm.  
It draws a heavy sigh from him.

One.  
Two.  
Three.

"Release." 

He glances up, and frowns heavy at the eyes staring back.

"Do you ever leave?"

A smile. A grind of wood on floor. A creak. He's sitting across from him now, arms folded beneath his chin as he lays his head down. It's almost childish. He pushes over the napkin holder with his outstretched arm and smiles as they scatter across the table and past the neatly stacked pile of envelopes. 

They're noticed. 

"Love letters?" He asks and grabs one off the top. Delsin makes no move to stop him. He's too tired. The coffee is too good. He takes another sip. "Ohh, yeah. She wants your babies man," a laugh, he grabs another, "And this one wants to name his baby  _after_ you." Silence. He grabs another. and another. another. His smile grows with each. It's almost unsettling, the way his lips twitch up, the way they wrinkle and pull. A laugh. He's tossing them over his shoulder now when he's done with each one. 

Silence. "All bullshit," He finishes and tosses the last one over his shoulder, abruptly pushing back his chair and standing across from him, "I've never read such bullshit in my life."

Delsin says nothing. He goes to take another drink of his coffee, frowning at the cup when he discovers it's gone. When did he drink it all? When...? There's a warm hand on his arm and he's suddenly sleepy and disoriented and chilled and he closes his eyes at the chapped lips on his forehead and the soft mummer of

_you should sleep_

he has nothing much to do today, anyway. Delsin curls up on the couch and pulls down the blanket draped across the back. A sigh. soft. sleepy. tired. the tv hums on about Seattle and their hero in blue while he drifts back to the Space Needle, towered against a red sky.


	9. repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // breathe.

"Stay, please?"

Delsin is curled into his double's side and he's so  
tired.  He closes his eyes at the request. 

This is familiar.   
As if he's done this before  
In a different time, place, with another person.  
 _Reggie._  
The factory roof is cold beneath him, but the body  
next to him is so warm.

"Okay,"   
he says, soft, the billboard  
that held his brother's face now smeared  
and scuffed, as if somebody had  
tried to rub the paint off.

They sleep.  

The waves roll against the sand  
and it's white noise.  
white noise.   
toss.  
turn.   
 _end._


	10. here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // there.

There's a wheeze.  
A stumble.   
His double's mouth buries into the soft of his tummy

and pulls. 

It's wet and sickening and he gags at the smell  
and the carmine slick on his hips and thighs. 

it looks up and it's no longer him  
and it's maw writhes dark, eyes red  
and strung out with blood and 

_awake._

he shakes.  
alone.   
sheets drenched with sweat. 

there's eyes on him he can feel it and in a fit  
of anxiety  
digs his nails into his skin...


	11. greed *

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // taken.
> 
> *nsfw  
> *gore

Delsin chokes.  
His double's hips stutter,  
and there's a burn. A push.

Their fingers tangle and he shakes, the roofing digging into his cheek as his head is shoved into it. It's hard to breathe. He's shushed. Gentle fingers on his cheeks, pulling soft noises from him as - another push.

"You're so pretty." 

Delsin opens his mouth to respond, but when his double pulls back, nothing but a whimper leaves him. empty. empty. a snap forward, and he's filled again. He doesn't want this to end. The warmth floods his belly and it pools and gathers and builds and builds and his sicker self pulls back and there's fingers sliding against where they're joined. He slides down a bit and parts his legs, shamelessly arching back into the touch. warmth. they breech. the stretch and burn is almost too much, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from losing it completely. 

"So, so pretty." 

The compliment is soft as the fingers pull him apart as he sinks back in. his cheeks burn, red like the sky, and his shoulders shake. tremble. pretty pretty. two fingers. he pulls back. three. four. he's held open, and Delsin's body is on fire as he can feels those eyes inspect him. other things. think of other things. chase the awkward away. chase the panic. he's panicking. the anxiety bubbles in his chest.

and he thinks of her.   
her.  
oh god, her. 

Then everything stills. He chills. Delsin considers pulling away, but there's a snap and there's teeth in his shoulder and the fingers pull away but the weight in him swells and everything gets heavy and he's being stretched and his fingers curl against the tiling and a quiet

_**no** _

is teethed into his shoulder and those hips snap forward as his mouth pulls back and he cries out in pain as the meat is torn away and the shiny muscle is left exposed and the blood is red and angry and boils over and down his skin and meets them in the middle and and monster chews, and swallows, and his insides are hot and he screams as the mouth clamps down over the wound and  _again_ again again again he pushes forward and there's more flesh torn back and swallowed and 

he fights against his bed sheets, the smoke rolling from his fingers and they're ashes and cinders and the smoke alarms are going off and he's snarling wild, loud. he's throwing the remains from his body and pressing himself into the corner, tucked away near the window. all the blood is pooled in his groin and his dick is heavy and hard against his thigh. Delsin holds his face and sinks down against the mattress, wheezing hard,

trying to catch his breath.  
and ignore the tingling in his legs,  
his lower half.


	12. insert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // hold.

It starts with noise.  
a lucid hum,

reverberating in his throat

as he

 

chokes.

 

and he’s there, clinging to corners and the spaces between doors and windows and Delsin treats him as another

 

fleeting shadow,

something borne in black

 

and blood, smeared across the table as he throws himself across it, fingers twisted in guts and gore and there’s laughter and he can’t move. there’s blood on his face and his stomach and this has to be a dream - he’s got his hands buried up to his elbows.

 

there’s no pain -

he’s cold to the tips of his fingers, ice.

 

he

chokes.

 

he’s alone,

no he’s not.

 

he fixates on the wall, ignoring the claws on his shoulder and the whines the pleads the begging the fucking begging of _look look look loOK LOOK LOOOK LOOK AT ME LOO k at mm e_ and he snarls at himself and fists his hair and pull s

 

and Fetch’s voice snaps him from his stupor and he’s got his head against the bathroom mirror and his eyes are bloodshot and the smoke has eaten through his beautiful soft hair and his mother used to brush it every day - take care of it she’d say and she’d kiss his forehead

 

and he does that too, chapped lips pressed to his temple, teeth fleshed against his skin in a smile.

 

“take care of it,” and there’s teeth in his shoulder chewing

skin and bone and muscle and there’s nothing but noise

 

a lucid hum - shaky hands in sheets shaky hands on hips and a burn in his back his stomach his chest and his shoulder is open and raw and shiny with red, dotting his skin with each pull and tear.

his stomach churns.  
  


“what’s wrong Delsin?”

 

Eugene asks and Delsin sets his fork down, unable to fathom even eating the pork without vomiting. it’s slimy in his mouth and sticks in his throat - he can feel the hands in his stomach in his chest and searching wetly for his heart. he can feel the teeth in his shoulder pulling back -

 

the meat bobbing heavy on his tongue before sliding down his gut.

 

he shakes his head and pushes his plate away

 

oddly pale.

 

“what’s wrong?”

 

he glances up and he stares at himself and the smoke that punctuates every word, those eyes sunken in and sick and tired and his lips are bitten and bloody, teeth catching on the lower and pulling back, back, ripping, tearing - “i thought you were hungry.”

 

“i’m not hungry,” he answers slowly, eyes wide and looking through Eugene, trying to ignore him trying to ignore the teeth and the fingers creeping to his hand

 

he removes it from the table and stands,

 

skin prickling with laughter, soldered deep and pointed with pink, purples, blues and bruises, “i’m sorry.”

 

there’s an arm in his gut and his double is stretched across the table, carving knife thrown carelessly to the floor, heaped in blood. he crunches up and gags, making the mistake of looking down and watching the red fabric sink an inch deeper. cold, cold - heat under his ribs and another inch - searching. freeing the caged ravens he’s wound so tight and he’s throwing his head back

 

pleading.

 

a lucid hum - there’s hands prying him open; he parts his legs and screams, trailed with a sob and the fingers are on his heart and a kiss pressed to his lips,

 

_i thought you were hungry_

 

he takes a bite.

the sinews pop and it gives fight like rubber and

 

it starts with noise  
a lucid hum,

reverberating in his throat

as he

chokes.

 

 


End file.
